Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMR5GTECGXW2ZBJMY00KYYG

The raven’s neon glow bled through the Soho drizzle, painting the slick pavement a sickly green. Aurora pushed through the heavy oak door of The Raven’s Nest, shaking the damp from her shoulder-length black hair. The scent of stale beer, old wood, and something vaguely metallic—Silas’ favorite disinfectant—hit her first. It was a familiar, comforting smell, the scent of home. The bar was sparsely populated for a Tuesday night. A couple huddled in a booth, their hushed voices barely audible over the low thrum of a blues tune from the jukebox. A lone man nursed a pint at the counter, his back to the door. Rory made her way to the bar, intending to grab a quick soda before heading upstairs to her flat. “Evening, Rory,” Silas Blackwood’s voice rumbled, deep and even, as he slid a coaster across the polished mahogany. His neatly trimmed beard, streaked grey with auburn, caught the dim light. He leaned against the back bar, his silver signet ring gleaming on his right hand as he wiped down a glass. A subtle shift in his weight reminded her of the slight limp in his left leg. “Rough delivery run?” Rory sighed, running a hand over her blue eyes. “Just cold. And the traffic on Oxford Street was a nightmare.” She leaned against the cool wood. “Just a coke, please, Silas.” He nodded, moving with the quiet authority that always seemed to impress her. As he turned to retrieve her drink, the man at the counter shifted, his back still mostly to her. Something in the way he moved, the set of his shoulders, pricked at a memory. It was an old memory, one she usually kept locked away. Silas placed a sweating glass of cola in front of her. “Anything else, Rory? You look like you’ve been through it.” She shook her head, her gaze still snagged on the man fifty feet away. He was still. Too still. “No, just tired.” Before she could dismiss the feeling, the man tilted his head, catching the reflection of the bar in the mirror behind the bottles. And then he turned. Rory’s breath hitched. Time seemed to warp, the blues music fading into a distant hum. Those eyes. A shade of startling green she had seen only once before, a lifetime ago. A jawline that used to be soft, now chiseled and sharp. The boyish curve of his mouth, now a taut, unfamiliar line. Evan. The name, unspoken, felt like a physical blow. Her hand flew to her left wrist, her fingers tracing the small crescent-shaped scar there, a phantom ache blooming in its wake. He saw her. Recognition, slow and dawning, flickered in those green eyes. A ghost of a smile, almost a wince, touched his lips. “Rory?” he said, his voice deeper, rougher than she remembered. It was a question, an accusation. She couldn't speak, her throat suddenly dry. She gripped the cold glass tighter. Silas, sensing the shift in the air, glanced between them, his hazel eyes narrowing. He was an expert at reading people, at sensing trouble. Evan pushed off the bar stool, a studied casualness in his movements. He walked towards her, each step a deliberate invasion of her carefully constructed peace. He was taller, broader than she remembered. His clothes were expensive, tailored. Not the threadbare jumpers and faded jeans of the boy she’d known. He stopped a foot away, close enough for her to feel the subtle heat radiating from him, close enough for the faint scent of an unfamiliar cologne to reach her. It was sharp, expensive, nothing like the cheap aftershave he used to wear. “Aurora Carter,” he said, the full name a hammer blow. “It really is you. I heard… well, I heard you’d disappeared.” Her voice, when it came, was a whisper. “Evan. What are you doing here?” He gave a short, humourless laugh. “London. That’s what I’m doing here. What are *you* doing here? Last I heard, you were set to be Queen of the Law Courts back in Cardiff.” The bitter edge to his voice was unmistakable. It cut through the years, through the layers of healing she had built. “Things change,” she said, her voice growing steadier, a coolness seeping into it. It was the detached, calm voice she used when facing down a difficult delivery or navigating a heated argument. “Clearly.” His gaze swept over her, taking in her practical delivery uniform, the plainness of her appearance. His eyes lingered on her face, searching, as if for the girl he’d known. But that girl was long gone. “You’ve changed too,” she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them. He looked… harder. The softness in his features was gone, replaced by an angular sharpness. His eyes, though still that striking green, held a guarded intensity she didn't recognize. “Life does that.” He shrugged, a negligent gesture designed to project indifference. “So, this is your life now? Delivering takeout from a Chinese place? Above a bar?” A trace of derision entered his voice. Rory felt a familiar heat rise in her cheeks, but she pushed it down. “It’s honest work. And it’s mine. I don’t owe you any explanations, Evan.” “No, you don’t.” He took another step closer, his gaze fixed on hers. “But I think you owe me an apology.” The words hung in the air, heavy and loaded. Silas, from behind the bar, stopped wiping a glass. The couple in the booth had ceased their murmuring. Even the blues music seemed to hold its breath. Rory stared at him, bright blue eyes unwavering. “An apology? You’re joking.” “You left without a word, Rory. Just vanished. No call, no note, no explanation to anyone. Eva just told me you’d gone to London. You think that was okay?” His voice was low, but the anger was palpable. Her old anger, dormant for so long, flared. “You think *that’s* what this is about, Evan? You think I owe *you* an apology for leaving after all you did?” The words, once so impossible to say, now poured out, fueled by years of unspoken hurt. “You think I should have lingered to explain why I left the man who… who nearly broke me?” A subtle flicker in his eyes. For a moment, just a fraction of a second, the mask of indifference slipped. A flash of something akin to shame, quickly suppressed. “I made mistakes,” he said, his voice flat. “We both did. But you just cut me out, Rory. Like I was nothing. After everything we went through.” “Everything *you* put me through.” She gripped the glass so hard her knuckles turned white. “I left because I had to. Because I was afraid. Afraid of what you would do next, afraid of who I was becoming with you.” He was silent for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. He looked around the bar, as if assessing an opponent, his eyes briefly sweeping over Silas. Then he brought his gaze back to her. “Look, Rory,” he began, his voice surprisingly gentle, a resonance of the boy she had once loved. “I’m not the same person I was. I’ve grown up. I’ve… learned.” The word hung in the air, empty, without supporting evidence. Rory scoffed, a short, sharp sound. “Have you? Or have you just learned to hide it better?” His jaw tightened. The trace of vulnerability vanished, replaced by a cold, hard glare. “You always were stubborn, Aurora. Always jumped to conclusions.” “And you were always good at twisting things.” She met his stare, her resolve hardening. “I’m not that naive girl anymore, Evan. I’m not the one who lets herself be walked all over.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I heard you were living in London with Eva. She said you reinvented yourself. ‘Laila,’ she called you. What, was Aurora not good enough anymore?” The casual mention of her new name, a name only Eva and a few close friends used, felt like a violation. “It’s none of your business. And Eva doesn’t know everything.” “No, I suppose not. She still pines for you, you know. Worries about you.” He said it like a threat, a weapon. Rory felt a surge of protectiveness for her friend. “Leave Eva out of this. She had nothing to do with any of it.” “Didn’t she? She was always in your ear, wasn’t she? Always telling you I was no good.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “Maybe she was right.” The admission, however grudging, was a shock. She watched him, searching for sincerity in his eyes, but found only a well-practiced blankness. “What do you want, Evan?” She kept her voice even, controlled. “Why are you here? This isn’t a coincidence, is it?” He hesitated, then pulled a small, engraved silver card from his inner jacket pocket and slid it across the bar. It landed with a soft click. “I’m here on business. For Blackwood & Sons. We’re expanding our London presence. And I… I wanted to see you.” Rory glanced at the card. Blackwood & Sons. A major investment firm. The name of the company sent a chill down her spine. The boy who couldn’t hold down a part-time job now worked for a high-powered company. “Funny,” she said, looking up at him, her bright blue eyes cold. “I don’t remember you ever wanting to see me unless you wanted something.” His face flushed, a flicker of the old Evan. “That’s not fair.” “Isn’t it?” She pushed the card back towards him with her fingertip. “You want to apologize? For everything? Then say it. Truly. Not this half-hearted performance.” He picked up the card, his fingers drumming lightly against the polished wood. The drumming stopped. He met her gaze, and for a fleeting moment, she saw a shadow of genuine pain in his green eyes. “I am sorry, Rory,” he said, his voice softer now, stripped of its defensive edge. “For everything. For how I treated you. For the fear… I know I hurt you. I really am sorry.” The words, so long imagined, so long yearned for, now sounded hollow, too little, too late. The weight of time, of unspoken regret, hung between them, a tangible third presence. Rory looked at him, truly looked at him, and saw not the boy she had once loved, nor the monster she had fled, but a stranger. A man shaped by choices, just as she had been. “I hear you,” she said, her voice quiet. “It doesn’t change anything.” She took a slow sip of her coke, the cold liquid doing little to quench the fire in her gut. He had apologized. And it meant nothing. Not anymore. He studied her for another moment, then a slow nod. “I suppose not.” He slid the signet ring on his right hand, a nervous habit. “Well. It was… unexpected, seeing you.” “Unexpected,” she echoed, the word flat. He gave a small, almost imperceptible bow of his head. “Goodnight, Rory.” He turned and walked towards the door, his measured steps now carrying a definitive air of departure. The green neon glow of The Raven’s Nest swallowed him whole a moment later. Silence descended, thicker than before. Silas finally broke it, his voice calm. “Everything alright, Rory?” She took another sip, the ice clinking against the glass. “As alright as it can be, Silas. As alright as it can be.” Her gaze drifted to the empty space where Evan had stood, then to her wrist, the crescent-shaped scar faintly visible in the dim light. She ran her thumb over it, feeling nothing but her own skin. No phantom ache. Just a scar.